Livin' La Vida Loca
by Your Iron Lung
Summary: She's in to superstition, black cats and voo-doo dolls. I feel a premonition, that girl's gonna make me fall.


He first met her in New Orleans; during Mardi Gras, if he remembered correctly. And, well, if memory served, then yes, it was indeed during that wild week of festive celebrations, as the streets were quite literally packed full of thriving, jiving, warm livinghuman beings. Bright lights and loud music were everywhere, and he absolutely adored it. It was the type of thing he loved to be a part of, even if he no longer fit in with most the population that held such an event.

It was that fleeting glimpse of gleaning, pale, preternatural skin that first alerted him, and he knew instantly that another creature of the night was haunting the busy streets. It excited him. His partner had decided to opt out of this late night celebration in favor of more dignified company, leaving him alone among this throng of unsuspecting people, but now he knew he was not alone! There was another lurking the streets, and he hadn't met someone else of their kind for quite some time.

But ah, were had they gone? This ever-moving crowd of people had swept away whatever vampire had been there. Drats. However, he refused to let his mood be dampened and found himself hunting through the large mass of celebrators, trying his damndest to catch sight of where that blood sucker had gone, when suddenly she was right before him.

She was dancing and swaying along effortlessly to the music, seducing the unsuspecting men around her with lidded glances and a predatory smile, fangs hidden behind lush purple lips. The air around her was electric and spiced with a sharp sense of danger, adding to her already alluring aura. Her hair gleamed a dark black that almost seemed to match the purple coating her lips, and her eyes were devilish and bright, a threatening red that matched his one good eye. But what seemed to attract him most was the way her skin, smooth and as white as ivory, contrasted so deeply against the tight black dress that was hugging her form. This woman was absolutely captivating, and oh, was she looking at him?

They made eye contact and an unspoken connection was made; they both knew what the other was, and she made it known she was bored with her human company. An invitation.

Entranced, he glided through the crowds, moving along with everyone as they pushed and pulled around him. It was obvious from the way she moved, he observed, that she was incredibly self-confident; powerful and strong in ways he'd never seen in a woman, reminding him of the way he often acted- always sure of himself in everything he did.

Grinning and sure of his many manly charms and his ability to woo women, he approached her and swept her up from behind, moving his body against hers in time to the eclectic music beat.

"Hola, ___señorita_."

She grinned, closing her eyes and placing her fine, thin hands chilled with death over his own, the colors of their skin contrasting sharply

"Ooh, a foreigner."

Her voice was rough and smooth all at once, sending chills down his spine as he matched it to that of Joan Jett. He loved Joan Jett.

"Mnn, si, si. I am indeed a foreigner, thrown about in this mob of a mixing pot called America." He cooed, dipping his chin down into the groove of her neck, the tasty smell of those delectable humans surrounding them as he breathed her in. She smelt vaguely of Orchids and blood, the latter of which was unsurprising. The Orchids, however, seemed out of place and yet strangely fitting all at once, given what she was. The scent suited her.

"I always did enjoy a bit of Spanish spice in my life." He heard her say as she turned in his arms, facing him and giving him an appraising gaze, a slight hum of approval rising up her delicate looking throat. "And don't you look absolutely _delicious._ I was beginning to grow tired of this dull Cajun flavor these people seem to love so much."

Of all the female vampires he'd ever meet (and that wasn't many), this one straight before him was the strongest he'd ever come across. Where many failed to come to terms with their new murderous life-style, this one seemed to _embrace _it. She wasn't afraid of what she was, and flaunted it around carelessly; he loved it so much.

"You can call me Casimiro."

"Adelaide."

He licked around the ridges of his mouth, drawing her close enough so his mocha toned lips could graze against her ear as he whispered:

"A beautiful name befitting a beautiful woman." He could feel her grin even if he couldn't see it, and continued on. "You look like a woman who likes to have fun, Adelaide."

"Hm, finally a man who gets me; I was beginning to lose faith in mankind, I'll have you know." Her pronunciations were sharp and punctual, and she spoke with a constant stream of sarcasm. This woman kept on exceeding his expectations.

He chuckled and ran a hand through her thick locks of purple-black hair that trailed on down the porcelain smooth skin of her back.

"I can restore that faith for you." He husked, winking.

"Oooh." She creened slyly, pressing her self flush against him- close enough to kiss him if she'd like- with eyes half-lidded and one long, elegantly thin finger slowly combing down his chest, she spoke. "I do so like the sound of _that, ____señor."_

He raised a brow and his grin broadened, looping his arm around her petite waist as he gazed down at her cheekily.

"The only question now, señorita, is my place, or yours."

"Oh, don't disappoint me now, darling! Show me a good time; let's go back to yours."

* * *

Him and his partners apartment was on a local street hosting part of the wild Mardi Gras celebration, and thus was not far at all to get to. In fact, knowing that this local tradition took place yearly, Casimiro had even made sure to nab a place that had a balcony overlooking the street so he'd always be able to watch as the people partied, even if he didn't want to take part in it.

As they entered, the vampire noticed that his partner was not yet back, and for that he was thankful; the loud noises from the Mardi Gras festivities below would continue to ward him away for several more hours, until the impending sunrise forced him to return.

"I'd offer to take your coat, but…" he smiled lavishly as he hung up his own, turning toward her as she shut the door behind her, leaning back on it sexily. He admired her creamy white thighs as that short black trim rode up, her ever-present smirk gracing her features.

She chuckled good-naturedly before looking around the dimly lit apartment he shared with his friend before returning to eyeing up her new boy toy.

"I absolutely adore the décor; you have such great taste, Casimiro."

He laughed and crept up to her, placing his dark hands on her arms so white and cold. "You'd have to thank my roommate for that; I myself can't be bothered much with such trivial things. Now…" he brought their foreheads together, staring into her deep red eyes as his fangs slowly slipped out over his lips. "What do you say to getting this thing started?"

He dove in to kiss her deliciously plump lips but was met instead with one of her fingers, a childish, yet mischievous look upon her face as he frowned, confused.

"Oh, honey; where's that hot, spicy Spanish flare you promised me? Don't fail me now, darling! Why don't we play a game first?"

That momentary flash of doubt that had arisen as she'd intervened their liplock was dashed instantly as he returned that wicked smirk, arching his brows. Of course! Foreplay was always a delicious treat to indulge in.

"Ah, where are my manners! Of course, of course, we could play a game or two first." Here he paused to think; this woman was obviously a tough one to please, so what on earth could he do that would rise to her expectations? "How would you like to-"

"Do you play poker, Cas? May I call you that, Cas?" As he nodded, she smiled and continued. "I'd love to play cards against a man like you, you look like an absolute riot to play with."

She knew exactly how to play him, as she'd dealt with many men like him before; just stroke his ego a bit and he'd be puddy in one's hands. Easily flattered and excitable, his better judgment would be cast aside quickly and effortlessly, more so when lying with a pretty woman was at stake. So of course he took the bait.

"Well, not to brag, but yes, I am quite the card player; I'm sure we could arrange a game, if that's what you'd like." His grin quickly turned sharkish as he thought about what was on the line and how he was about to obtain it. He was proud of his poker skills (even if he did cheat), and knew there was no way in hell he was going to lose. "And what, exactly, do you plan on wagering?"

"Oh, I don't know." She said, slinking away from under his arms and her perch on the door to swagger over to the card table he and his partner often sat at on long, drab evenings. "What do you say we make it…interesting?"

"I like interesting." He commented, following after her and picking up the deck resting on the center of the table. "As long as it involves the removal of clothing, of which you have very little, I'm down for anything you have in mind."

He snuck another glance at her impeccable form and suppressed a shudder, wanting nothing more than to see her flush naked underneath him, having the best sex of his unearthly life as she moaned his name in that amazing voice of hers.

In response to his comments, she grinned and sat down at the table, crossing her arms and steepling her fingers before her, watching as he shuffled the cards fondly.

"That sounds delightful, Cas; I'd love to get naked with you, however, where's the fun in that? Why don't we spice this up, add a bit more…risk to it?"

"What kind of 'risk' do you have in mind, Adelaide dearest?" He took his seat at the table and began dealing their hands, resting back in his chair as he smiled cockily, thinking she had some sexy idea brewing in her pretty head of hers.

"Well, what do you say to adding your apartment on top of all this? Say, when you run out of clothes, you not only do you lose and not get to have your ravishing, dirty Spanish ways with me, but you hand over your apartment as well?"

He stopped grinning, staring at her oddly before laughing outright, leaning forward in his chair, delighted she was willing to play with such high odds.

"Adelaide, that's awful brave of you! But if I'm willing to wager something as huge as me and my partners place of living, surely you must put something of equal value up for grabs! I won't be fooled into-"

She'd reached across the table and pulled him into a strong kiss, her lips moving surely and strongly against his as he felt her tongue run cold along them, closing her eyes and groaning into slightly. Caught completely off guard, he could only gape as she pulled away, acting as though nothing had happened.

"Cas, darling, you get me; what on earth could be worth more than that?"

She had a point.

* * *

However, several hands later, and a small pile of discarded clothing on the side (none of which belonged to her), he was beginning to doubt that her prize offerings were worth it. This woman, Adelaide, hadn't lost a single hand since they'd started, even though he'd been cheating through his teeth! How was she doing it? He couldn't figure out, even as he wriggled out of his tight fitting trousers, grumbling sourly as he tossed them to join the rest of his clothes.

She was laughing, shaking her head as he sat back down and dealt another hand, hell-bent on winning at least once. If he could blush, he sure as hell would be flushing as red as a tomato now, his leg bobbing up and down angrily as he scowled at his cards. What the fuck was going on?

"Full House, Cas darling." She cooed, laying down her hand as she smirked smugly at him.

"God _dammit_!" he yelled, throwing down yet another losing hand and standing up so abruptly his chair tumbled over. She was unphased by his anger, and seemed to be enjoying it as he cursed under his breath and tossed his underwear away.

Naked and slightly humiliated, he sat back down and snarled accusingly at her.

"You're cheating."

"Nothing up my sleeves, honey." She teased, showing him her bare arms he'd found amazingly attractive mere minutes before, but now found hideous and fake. He cursed again and dealt out the last hand.

This was it, the make it or break it game, though he didn't really plan on just giving her their apartment like that. As they'd been playing, her true colors had begun to shine through, and he couldn't say he liked them all that much. She was a bitch, plain and simple, taking advantage of his lust-fogged brain to try and weasel him out of an apartment he'd paid damn good money for. Fuck this girl; he was keeping this apartment even if he lost!

But oh! A straight flush! Victory was his at last, and it was about damn time.

"Straight flush." He said arrogantly, laying down the cards and peering at her smugly, sure that she was about to strip out of that absolutely atrocious black dress. To his dismay, however, she only laughed and laid down her hand, mocking him with her eyes as she beat him once again.

"Sorry babe, but nothing beats a royal flush."

He stared in disbelief as she won yet again, his skills at poker being outdone by that of a woman in a slutty black dress.

"How the fuck-"

"You can leave now, Casimiro darling. It was fun while it lasted, but I'm tired; you understand."

"Now wait just a damn minute, I'm not going anywhere. This is _my_ apartment and like hell if I'm just going to roll over and let you take it, you bitch!"

"Such language." She chided, stepping away from the table as he rose up against her. "And to think I thought a brute like you was such a gentleman, tut tut, Casimiro. Be the gentleman I know you are and accept your defeat with grace."

He wanted to say something noble and cliché like 'over my dead body', but seeing as how he was already quite dead, that didn't seem very logical and would only encourage his newfound stupidity.

"Absolutely not. This is _my_ apartment and I won't have you taking it!"

"Dear, you wagered it in a poker match and lost, fair and square." She reasoned, still smiling, as she sauntered over to him, staring up at him in an obviously amused fashion as he scowled angrily at her. "Don't make this harder than it has to be; I assure you, I can be quite persuasive when I need to be."

"Listen, you two-faced bitch, I'm not-"

Caught off-guard, she swiftly kneed him between the knees and with a 'horf' he was down, clutching at his exposed genitals with a grimace of pure pain etched across his face as she smiled keenly above him, arms on her hips.

"Such a shame to see a handsome young man like yourself reduced to such lows." She walked past him as he continued rocking on his knees, cringing with every movement as he cursed mentally. He heard the click of the door opening, and turning slightly and peering through clenched eyes he saw she stood by the door, propped wide open before she came back to him and helped him to his feet, walking him reluctantly out of his apartment.

"Fuck you fuck you fuckyoufuck!" he said, struggling out of her grasp as she dumped him naked outside the apartment, a humiliated injured mess of limbs huddled on the floor.

She smiled sweetly one last time before she shut the door in his face, the distinct sound of locks clicking in the silent empty halls of the building. Snarling and wobbling to his feet, he rammed his fists on the thing keeping them separated and jiggled furiously at the handle, all in vain.

"Adelaide!" He roared, uncaring of whoever heard him. "Adelaide you _fucking bitch_ you open this god damn door this instant!"

Inside he heard her mirthless laughter muffled by the walls, movement throughout their apartment as he pounded uselessly at the door, crying out angrily.

He'd never been this humiliated before; tricked out of his apartment and standing naked in a corridor, he felt he'd never be able to face his partner again. How on earth was he supposed to explain to his smug, stupid Bristish partner how he'd been dupped out of their apartment and played so easily by a woman! This was an absolute outrage! He gave one last strangled cry of rage before remembering that, hey! Their apartment had a balcony.

Sure, all he had to do was get to the balcony and bam! Home free!

He rushed down the stairs, not giving a damn who saw him in all his manly glory before running out into the crowded streets, ignoring the laughter and shouts and gestures sent his way as he scanned the balconies above him, trying to pinpoint which was his.

A flutter of falling cloth caught his attention, and he stared in doumbfoundment as he saw a dark figure throwing his and his partners clothing over the rails to be caught up and carried away by the throng of people dancing below them. Oh, that _whore_.

"Adelaide!" he called furiously up to her, and upon hearing her name, she turned in his direction and waved cheerily before discarding another batch of clothing over the edge. "FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKING BITCH."

"Pleasure doing business with you too, darling!" She blew him a kiss, and with that, she retreated back inside what used to be his apartment to presumably lock those doors too.

Well fuck. Now, here he was, the once proud, handsome Spaniard reduced to a sputtering, absolutely _frothing_, naked mess on the busy streets of New Orleans in the middle of a Mardi Gras celebration. Could it get any worse? He thought not.

As he turned and glared at everyone who laughed his way, he cursed her name then and there, vowing to get back at her one day and make her pay for this outright humiliation she was putting him through. He took off down the streets, covering himself as best he could as he ran to where his partner said he'd be, hoping that the bastard wouldn't be smug and above him when he showed up naked, helpless and demanding he come and help him deal with a slight vampire problem he may have brought into their apartment.

Adelaide had hell waiting for her as soon as he got his shit together, that she could count on. She'd rue the day she decided to mess with Casimiro, that he'd make sure of.

* * *

**A/N: **Haha, just my take on why Cas possibly hates Adelaide so much. I can see him hating her for something as silly as this. ALSO, before I get comments saying "OH, YOU STUPID POWER RANGER, CASIMIRIO IS ITALIAN DURHUR TESSA SAID SO IN HER Q&A", shutup. I know, _however, _I was told by Tessa before she released that journal in a ustream that he was Spanish, and I'm sticking with that. Haters can hate, idgaf. Also Ricky Martin is the shit. SHAKE YER BON-BON, SHAKE YER BON-BON.


End file.
